


Heat Wave

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Comeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Road Head, Sibling Incest, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam is restless next to him, tapping his fingers on the windowsill, a beat off from the Zeppelin song blasting over the speakers. He has some lore book spread across his lap, pouring over it like it’s the next version of the Bible, a pen stuck in between his front teeth.He is, as per usual, unconsciously distracting.





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while tipsy. I was fixated on Sam and Dean and road head ALL day, so you get this. Enjoy. :)
> 
> I can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sammyanddee) if you'd like to come yell at me.

If there’s one thing Dean doesn’t like about the Impala, it’s her lack of air conditioning. 

He and Sam have been in the car for about two hours, heading east through middle Texas, towards Oklahoma, sky clear blue above them. He’s out of his button up, was ten minutes after starting the drive; his skin sticky with sweat from the moment he got into the car. It’s tossed into the back, along with Sam’s. He has the windows rolled down, but it doesn’t really make much difference, the stifling hot air whipping his hair around and doing not much else. Texas is always hell, but it’s a special kind in the middle of August, when early mornings pre-sunrise push eighty degrees. 

Sam is restless next to him, tapping his fingers on the windowsill, a beat off from the Zeppelin song blasting over the speakers. He has some lore book spread across his lap, pouring over it like it’s the next version of the Bible, a pen stuck in between his front teeth. 

He is, as per usual, unconsciously distracting. 

It doesn’t help that the heat got Sam out of his flannel and into only a thin, tight olive t-shirt. His arm muscles are just right there and Dean’s supposed to focus on the road? Yeah, right.

Sam, unbeknownst to Dean’s struggle beside him, sucks the end tip of the pen into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it as he thinks. 

“Find anything?” Dean asks, less in actual interest and more out of a need for a distraction that doesn’t involve his brain focusing on Sam and his mouth and all the things his mouth can do to Dean’s dick. 

Sam shrugs, slips the pen out of his mouth and raps it on the edge of the book. “Not much, I think it’s probably some form of hybrid shtriga though.”

“What makes you think that, genuis?”

Sam obnoxious eye-roll is expected and Dean isn’t disappointed, it’s a particular bitchy one. Success. 

“All the evidence from the case, the weird illness strain, time of death and ages of the kids, why do you want  _ more _ proof?”

“Don’t I always?” Dean says, shooting Sam a brief look that’s more smirk-y than annoyed, thanks to his unfortunate brain. 

Sam huffs and slaps the book closed. “Are you hungry or something? Cause you’re acting bitchy.”

“Says you.”

“Dean.”

There it is, that annoyed pronunciation of his name. It either means Sam won’t talk to him for the next three hours or he’s going to bend Dean over the hood and fuck this restlessness beneath his skin out of him. Dean is hoping for the latter; it’s more fun. 

“I’m pulling off at the next exit, says there’s a town there and a gas station which means snacks.”

“Fine,” Sam agrees. 

* * *

El Vardo is a one stoplight town. Gas station at the entrance, classic bar and restaurant pairing, and then it’s mid-century houses, trailer parks, and farmland as far as the eye can see. 

Dean pulls up to the gas pump and digs around in his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a twenty and a ten and throws them both in Sam’s lap. “Get me gas, jerky, and a coke, and whatever kind of rabbit food you want.”

Sam shoots him an epic bitch face as he gets out of the car, t-shirt damp and clinging to his back in a way that has Dean salivating. 

“Jerky, huh?” Sam asks, quirking an eyebrow at Dean as he leans on the window. 

“Yep,” Dean replies, accentuating the P with a pop.

“Hmm.” 

Dean watches him go, takes a steeled breath and gets out of the car. The heat hits him like a brick wall, all consuming out in the open. He peers over the top of the Impala at Sam inside the shop and finds him chatting with the cashier. She’s pretty, brunette, and from what Dean can see has pretty eyes and a bashful smile, which means Sam is flirting. 

Dean turns away from the store and maybe shoves the nozzle of the gas pump a little too aggressively into Baby’s tank. 

“You make a friend in there?” Dean asks, once Sam comes back and is settled next to him in the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam says, handing him the packet of beef jerky by slapping it directly in the middle of his chest. “Why? You jealous?” Sam asks, direct, shooting Dean a glance that is hotter than the air surrounding them. He almost decides right then and there to drag Sam into the gas station bathroom, but he’s not that desperate, not _ yet _ . 

“No,” Dean says, petulant and mostly lying, but trying to avoid Sam’s gaze. 

Sam smirks, which is more infuriating than the whole flirting thing in and of itself. So Dean revs the engine, tearing back out onto the highway, as Sam starts to eat his corn dog. 

It’s not long before he realizes Sam’s playing at something. 

They’re thirty minutes out of El Vardo, when he feels Sam’s arm slip around the back of his shoulders, fingers tickling the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. It sends goosebumps skittering down his spine, and Dean fights to focus on the road in front of him instead of pulling over to the side of the road and letting Sam do what he wants with him. 

“I’m bored,” Sam sing-songs, not even twenty miles outside of El Vardo.

“So? Read your friggin’ lore book.”

“That’s not interesting.”

“Well, guess you’re fucked.”

“You know what’s not boring, Dean?”

“What?” Dean instantly regrets he ever asked.

Sam reaches over, places a firm hand on Dean’s upper thigh and slides it down. “You.”

“Sam,” Dean says, half-warning, but sounding more like a plea. 

“What? I know you want to,” Sam answers, hand sliding back up to cup Dean’s half-hard cock through his jeans. “See? Been wanting me all day, haven’t you?”

“Been trying not to,” Dean grates out, bucking against Sam’s hand. If there’s one thing he won’t budge on, it’s on his resolve, Sam will have to break him. 

“Hmm,” Sam hums. He slides a hand up Dean’s chest, and finds his nipple, tweaking it between his fingers until he drags a satisfied whimper from Dean’s throat. “Please.”

“Please, what, Dean?” Sam asks, voice sugary sweet. 

“Fuck,” Dean groans, fighting to keep his eyes on the road. “I don’t know.”

A semi blares past them and Dean fights to keep his grip steady, while trying to not hump Sam’s hand. “Do you want me to get you off like this?” Sam asks. “While you’re driving? You’re that desperate you can’t wait until we get to a hotel.”

Dean groans, thumps his head back against the seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel as Sam rubs his cock through his jeans. “Yeah, fuck, do it.”

“I shouldn’t,” Sam muses. “I should make you wait.”

Dean whines, unbidden, slipping out of his lips, and he blushes the instant it happens. Next to him, he sees Sam smirking victoriously. 

Dean bites his lip, and looks over at Sam, the dilation of his pupils, and the soft pink of his mouth. Sam’s smirk widens into something feral and so heated Dean feels the rush of it to the tips of his toes. 

“Don’t crash,” Sam orders. 

Sam moves quickly, body rotating so his head is in Dean’s lap, fingers toying with the zipper of Dean’s jeans, undoing it in record time. Dean has barely managed to process what’s happening before Sam has Dean’s cock out and his fist wrapped around the base, rolling his balls between his fingers and lowering his mouth towards his cock. 

Sam leans down, lips parted and grips the meat of Dean’s thigh with his free hand, and twirls his tongue around the head of Dean’s cock. He licks the slit, mouthing at the head before dipping down and taking him all at once. Dean involuntarily thrusts into his mouth, pleased when Sam takes him all the way, lets Dean fuck into his throat while Sam takes Dean like the champ he is. 

It’s so hard to focus on driving, but Dean does, somehow. He desperately wants to slide over to the shoulder for just a few minutes to enjoy this. He’s going to die, and Sam’s the cause. 

Dean slips his free hand into Sam’s hair, tugs on the wavy strands between his fingers, urging him on while Sam sucks him off. Sam takes his time, working Dean slowly, dragging his tongue up the veins of his cock, taking his cock deep in his throat and letting Dean’s stutterd thrusts fuck his throat how he wants. It’s messy and uncoordinated but Dean could care less for how Sam moans around him, the heat and vibrations enough to bring him to the edge, toes curling in his boots even as he has one foot on the gas. 

Sam sucks on the tip, eyes glancing up through his lashes at Dean, and that’s it. Dean comes right into his mouth with a shaky gasp, hands tightening in Sam’s hair and the steering wheel, swerving into the other lane. He pulls out of Sam’s mouth at the last second, smears Sam’s mouth with the last of his come. Sam opens for it, lets Dean do it and pants, aching hard and tenting his jeans probably painfully in a way Dean won’t be able to help him with. He drags Sam up to him, tugging on his hair to get him to comply, and kisses him, briefly as he can while driving, licking his own come off Sam’s lips and wanting nothing more to be anywhere but in this car. 

“Good?” Sam asks, sitting back much to Dean’s chagrin, and wiping at his mouth with his arm. 

“Fucking perfect, Sam,” Dean mutters, eyes on the road, still not fully himself, body loose post-orgasm. 

“Good. But now, as thanks, you need to fuck me later,” Sam states, matter-of-factly. 

Dean gapes at him, glancing over and then stutters. He’s not wrong. “Deal.”

Sam slips his arm around Dean’s shoulder and goes back to playing with his hair, idle hands completely distracting. Only two more hours. Dean slams his foot on the gas and pushes Baby to ninety. 


End file.
